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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23656981">Internal Object</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/mgtmnk/pseuds/mgtmnk'>mgtmnk</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Pandora Hearts</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Another distinctly sad one but I promise next one will not be so, But like the most fucked up possible interpretation of 'childhood friends', Childhood, Childhood Friends, Gen, I love Noise so much, Mentions of Gilbert Nightray, No Romance, Noise PoV, Noise of Echo Baskerville Mental Illness Moments, One Shot, Pandora Hearts Week 2020, Short</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 23:07:00</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>909</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23656981</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/mgtmnk/pseuds/mgtmnk</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>His hands could barely hold anything in them, his legs couldn’t take him anywhere, his arms couldn’t reach anything he sought to carry in them. Every time she saw him, she was overwhelmed by anxiety that with one wrong move she’d go and tear his tiny little limbs off.</p><p>PH Week 2020 day 1 prompt (childhood)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Noise | Zwei &amp; Vincent Nightray</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Internal Object</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Vincent was so small she was afraid she would crush him. Within what little experience, little memory she had there was not a single instance of a real living breathing moving person who was as small as he was, with his head not even rising up to her collarbones. His hands could barely hold anything in them, his legs couldn’t take him anywhere, his arms couldn’t reach anything he sought to carry in them. Every time she saw him, she was overwhelmed by anxiety that with one wrong move she’d go and tear his tiny little limbs off.</p><p>In her right hand she grasped a doll, the soft kind, shaped like the kind of round little animal she knew children liked. “Here,” she said to him, holding it at arm’s length, stooping to match his sitting height. It was something she had managed to snag on one of the rare occasions she was released from her cell and allowed to see others— the Baskerville accompanying her had taken pity on her, sympathized when she told him it was for someone else. “I got you this. In… in return for the flowers you gave me.”</p><p>With cautious fingers Vincent grasped the toy from where he sat on the lawn, pulling it closer to his body as she let it slip from her hand. For a few moments he played with it, turning it in his hands, stroking its fur. No pleasure crossed his face, though she searched relentlessly for it. “Thank you,” he muttered at long last, curling into a loose ball around it. The top of its head brushed his cheek. “Maybe I’ll give it to Gil. Big sister didn’t do anything weird to it, did she?”</p><p>She shook her head rapidly, assured him the toy was fine. Toys didn’t hold much interest for her. Owning things seemed strange and useless. But her heart beat faster when she saw Vincent playing, and something in her fingers warmed when he touched it. She watched him intensely the entire time he did so, her own hands caught in the air as though clutching at nothing. He lay down on the grass. Falling to her side, she did the same.</p><p>Their eyes met, then his looked away. She watched as they darted to the side, staring at the green beneath them. “It’s itchy,” he complained without moving. Suddenly she could feel grass blades scratch at her face, could sense all the little bugs crawling from the ground to her skin, biting, tearing at her and eating into her body and it itched, though still she did not move.</p><p>There were times when Vincent would come and tell her about Gil. She had never met Gil herself but Vincent liked him a lot, would actually smile when he told her about him. A few days ago Vincent told her how he and Gil had held hands in a garden Vincent had never seen before, and there were lots of flowers there, and it was sunny that day so he ended up getting really hot while they played hide and seek and it was his turn to hide and he had to wait a long while because Gil is not good at hide and seek. She couldn’t remember having ever played hide and seek before but she could imagine, knees to her chest in a body as small as his, concealed behind a great big rose bush while light beat down on her back. Those stories made her happy, and Vincent always seemed so excited to tell them, and he’d close his eyes and laugh when he did. Most stories he told weren’t the kind that made him laugh.</p><p>People picked on Vincent, and that made her sad. Often when they talked he would tell her, how they would see him and hate him and keep him and kill him, and he said it like it happened a long time ago to someone else. He told her about it while they lay there, facing one another, his eyes on the ground and her eyes on him, and she could feel blood on her back as she covered her face and tried to hide because she was alone and there was no one protecting her and they had decided they hated her because she was different she was different and she couldn’t do anything to change.</p><p><em>You can’t do anything to change</em>, she thought, and for some reason that sentence stuck, becoming louder and louder in her head and reverberating and suddenly it seemed like there were many people saying it, people who weren’t her and she felt sick and got up and said she was very sorry and didn’t look at Vincent when she said it and she ran off. Soon she couldn’t hear the sentence through the syllables, just some great cacophony of mixed sounds crashing against one another, clamor against racket clawing at one another until their skin came off and more shrieking crying sounds came out.</p><p>Once she entered her cell she could not leave until someone let her out and she ran in and slammed the door behind her, jumping onto the bed and hiding under the covers as the noise grew louder and louder. It was like she could see herself in her mind, in a vast black empty sea of slamming waves and her body looked so small she knew it was going to be crushed by them.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Day one for PH Week 2020. Prompts were Childhood / First Kiss / Dreams, and I went with Childhood.</p><p>No beta I just reread it like 5 times</p></blockquote></div></div>
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